


In His Blue Gardens

by gloriouscacophony (KatrinaKay)



Series: Ineffable Husbands Week 2019 - NSFW [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agender Character, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - The Great Gatsby Fusion, Attempted Seduction, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is Gatsby, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Other, Resolved Sexual Tension, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 21:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20731088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatrinaKay/pseuds/gloriouscacophony
Summary: Ineffable Husbands Week (NSFW edition) - Day 4: Strip tease/Cabaret or Burlesque/Pole dancingIn which Aziraphale is invited to one of the infamous parties at Crowley's New York mansion, and attends to settle some confusion between them. (Great Gatsby/1920s AU)





	In His Blue Gardens

  
  
  
When Aziraphale receives the invitation, they roll their eyes. The heavy, embossed stationery is completely over the top and exactly Crowley’s style. The Roaring Twenties have seen the demon meddling with human society as he’s never done before, mucking about with the stock market and attending party after party full of booze, gambling, and Heaven knew what else. His seeming change from misanthropic celestial to social butterfly makes them seriously consider accepting.

Aziraphale hasn’t seen him in a year, but Jay Eppel’s reputation is difficult to avoid: He’s climbed the ranks of New York City’s elite, nouveau riche with gads of money (supposedly made from bootlegging and all sorts of other illicit activities) that he tosses around as if it’s just so much paper. The parties he throws at his giant mansion out at the end of Long Island, all weekend and every weekend, are by now legendary, and even those who aren’t invited manage to drive out in their automobiles to attend anyway

He’s acting completely unlike the Crowley that Aziraphale has known for millennia, and the angel has an inkling why: the last time they saw each other, Crowley had kissed them. It had been a giant mess.

(_His mouth had been cold, his lips a dry brush of soft skin. He tasted like the tea Aziraphale had brought for them to share, with a hint of something like wood smoke. _

_ “Angel, I—” Crowley had murmured, eyes flicking from their mouth to their eyes, forked tongue sneaking out to lick his lips. _

_ “Er,” Aziraphale had blurted out, frozen and unable to process the tumult of their mind, spinning and bobbing like a giddy child on a carnival ride. _

_ “It’s fine,” Crowley had replied, voice and sunglasses clenched in his hand both cracking as he darted serpent-quick to the other end of the park bench, looking ghostly pale. “I shouldn’t have—I know you don’t—oh, fuck this.” With a calamitous ruffle of invisible wings, he’d vanished, leaving Aziraphale gaping at the space he’d occupied moments before.) _

“Oh, what the hell,” the angel says to themself. They pick up the phone to call the tailor they keep on retainer. If they’re going to this thing, they’re going in style.  
  


* * *

  
The place is already pandemonium by the time Aziraphale appears in the copse of trees off the gravel drive and makes their way to the front of the house, dodging automobiles full of giddy socialites and men with foaming bottles of champagne already in hand. People are everywhere: jumping and running and shouting as they make their way in their striped suits and beaded dresses to the main entrance. Aziraphale tugs at the hem of their dress (rather short for their taste but it’s the fashion of the time) and lets the crowds carry them through to the tightly packed entrance corridor. Bodies press against them, and the air is thick with excitement. When the crush of people finally lets out into a massive hall, Aziraphale gapes in wonder. Crowley has outdone himself.

Chandeliers twinkle sky-high in the long, crowded room, where transparent balloons waft in every corner. There’s a woman dressed like a crimson peacock sprinkling glitter over the nearest partygoers from a massive papier mache champagne bottle. More women dance and gyrate on a raised dais, and a masked man plays a pipe organ in a recess above. Grand twin staircases border an archway that leads to the back patio, where more partygoers take their drinks—and their dates—with them for a swim. Heiresses lounge in bathing suits on beach chairs, cocktails in hand. Another band plays on a platform above the water, wearing tilted fezzes whose tassels sway with their movements as vividly colorful confetti falls from above. Nearby, one smoke-filled side room holds grinning men who gamble fortunes at cards and roulette. Billionaires fondle women who hang like shining beads around them, gleeful and glamorous. Everywhere the angel looks, there is decadence and debauchery.

Eyes wide, Aziraphale looks for Crowley amidst the chaos, showing the invitation to anyone who looks like they might know him and getting only shrugs in return. The poolside bartender informs the angel that no-one has ever seen Mr. Eppel. So Aziraphale orders a martini and wanders back inside, past a parquet-floored dance stage where a man in a crisp tuxedo and two dark-haired women in matching orange dresses tap and slide through a jazzy dance number to the cheers and whistles of gathered onlookers. 

After making another sweep of the mansion’s interior, they make it back out to the patio, leaning on the railing and blowing a sweat-damp white-blond curl away from their face with a frustrated huff. At least they’re dressed appropriately, and the current trend of flat chested boyishness suits their current physical configuration. Their dressmaker deserves a handsome Christmas bonus this year. The dress’s sleek, blush-colored silhouette is absolutely encrusted in faux diamonds that glimmer and shine in the lights, and the delicate floral faux-diamond headband matches perfectly. It’s the most decadent outfit they’ve ever worn, but its sparkle reminds them of the celestial beauty of Heaven. Aziraphale pulls their lavender fur wrap closer around their shoulders with ring-encrusted fingers and sighs. If nothing else, it’s a beautiful night.

“Hello, angel,” a husky voice whispers in their ear, and they turn to see Crowley grinning at them, golden, smoke-rimmed eyes wide behind a headdress of thin black netting that hides serpentine pupils. Aziraphale swallows at the sight, heart seizing in their chest at the sight of the lean, intoxicatingly beautiful creature before them—and the memory of his mouth on theirs.

“Crowley?”

“You like my disguise. No one’s looking for _ Miss _ Eppel, are they?”

Under his netted hat, Crowley’s bobbed hair is the same sleek red, its sharp points grazing rouged cheekbones. His dress is cut deeply at the sides, displaying the swell of small breasts. As the demon twirls to show off his outfit, that’s not all on display. The back of the dress is practically non-existent, showing off the angles of his shoulders and spine, and what fabric there is clings more tightly than is fashionable to his rear. At his neck, there’s a bib of golden diamonds that Aziraphale guesses cost more than several times the average New Yorker’s yearly pay, with matching diamond drops at his ears. His wine-stained, lipsticked mouth is a lush red, and Aziraphale gulps at the sight.

“You look wonderful, but what in heaven’s—what is all of this?”

“D’you like it?” the demon asks, taking a sip of his cocktail as he gestures grandly to the absolute chaos surrounding them. “I just figured, hey, if you’re going to debauch and tempt your way through New York, do it in style! Besides, in this city, it’s so easy to get lost in a crowd and just...blend right in.”

“Yes, well, it’s—can we talk, maybe someplace a bit quieter?” Azirphale asks, heart pounding. The demon raises his eyebrows, and something a bit like fear flitters across his face.

“Sure. Ah, follow me.”

They’re just passing the pool, Aziraphale trailing behind as they tries to process the fluttering feeling in their chest and what to say to Crowley, when a hard shove breaks their hands apart and sends the angel sprawling sideways...careening straight into the water. Aziraphale surfaces, coughing, until they remember that they doesn’t really need to breathe. They try to clamber out of the pool, scuffling at the edge until a firm hand grabs on and pulls them up to safety. It’s Crowley, of course, managing to look both bemused and concerned.

“Are you all right?” Crowley asks, wiping the damp strands of hair from the angel’s face. 

“Yes, just a bit sodden. Someone pushed me, and my reflexes have never really been the best, balance is atrocious too—” 

With a thought, Crowley spirits them away to a massive, decadent bedroom that’s the size of a small apartment. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the south wall, Aziraphale can see the flashes of light from the party and a few fireworks farther out along the water.

“—keep me out of trouble. Crowley, you really shouldn’t do things like that in front of people, they’ve have fits. Oh goodness, I’m dripping water everywhere—” They blush and miracle themself and the rug dry with a thought.

Crowley reverts his outfit to his usual suit and cropped hair and shrugs. “‘S fine, angel. Anyone down there who isn’t blazed up to their eyeballs will think it’s another party trick or nnnng, what have you.” After a moment of staring, the demon blinks ever so slowly. It’s a nervous tic Aziraphale recognizes from almost the time of the Garden. “You...you look good.” Crowley says, studying at Aziraphale in the flash and gleam of the fireworks. After a few moments, he sighs and looks away, biting his lip. “Listen, I’ve been meaning...about the last time we saw each other. I, er, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable—” 

“Oh, _ do _ shut up.” The angel pulls Crowley in to kiss him soundly, hands cradling the demon’s face with tender firmness. Crowley freezes, mouth parting on a gasp that tastes like the bite of gin and wood smoke. (The familiar taste makes their knees wobble just a bit.)

Then Crowley pulls Aziraphale against him, one hand sliding around the back of their neck to tangle his long fingers in the platinum curls and the other grabbing their hip tight enough to bruise as he deepens the kiss with a broken sound.

When they finally part, gasping more from emotion than lack of air, Crowley looks as shocked as Aziraphale felt those months ago. “Wha...muhrgrkle, but you…I don’t…” he stammers.

“I’m so sorry about last time, my dear. You surprised me, and you were gone before I could say anything. I’ve missed you terribly, you wily old thing.” 

They meet in another kiss that leaves no room for misunderstanding, “Oh, angel, I’ve...I’ve missed you too.”

“This is a hel—heaven of a way to sulk, you know. I haven’t seen anything like this since, well, Sodom and Gomorrah, I suppose. You’ve rather outdone yourself.”

“Well, there’s no better way to tempt people into indulging in sin than making it as appealing as possible,” he replies with a shrug, smugly pleased at the compliments. 

Affection swells in Aziraphale’s chest, and they chuckle quietly, the laughter still on their lips when they return to Crowley’s for another kiss, and another. “You never need to hide from me, my dear. We’ve known each other far too long, and far too well, for that.”

Crowley grumbles something into their neck before nipping at the skin there. The sharp sting makes the angel gasp, the sound swallowed by a kiss.

When his tongue flits over Aziraphale’s lip, their lips part and the wet, warm slide of tongue sends a syrupy rush of desire through Aziraphale’s veins like honey. A throbbing ache settles into their core, and a slick flush of wet heat soaks the folds between their legs. The angel twists, pressing closer to Crowley only to feel the press of his erection against the crease of their hip through the thin layers of their dresses. They weren’t sure what Crowley had been going with; he’s experimented far more than Aziraphale over the centuries, who tends to pick genitals and stick with them for a bit. Although this is the longest they’ve been in a female form for quite a while, and by far the most aroused they’ve been (_perhaps ever_, the angel thinks as Crowley’s deliciously forked tongue slides over the curve of their ear).

In return, Aziraphale tips their head to nip at the demon’s lip as they slide a hand down to cup his erection in their palm, wringing an utterly wretched groan from him. “A-aziraphale, you shouldn’t…” he manages to say, his words belied by the thrust of his hips into their hand and the heavy panting of his breath when he breaks away from their kissing to press his forehead to theirs. “If you keep that up—”

“But I want to. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you, there were so many times...I want you, Crowley, in every way I can have you.” They press their lips gently to his forehead, then drag them lightly over his skin to the corner of his jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin there. 

“Gah!” he bites out, practically vibrating in Aziraphale’s arms before he shoves the angel back against the wall. “You—” His hands cradle their face, eyes darting back and forth in a daze, pupils blown wide. His hands slide to grab fistfuls of the fabric at their hips as he thrusts his tongue, hot and wet and sinuous, back to meet theirs. 

When Aziraphale shoves Crowley back, he looks confused and completely debauched, hair mussed and necklace askew, and the angel imagines they look about as modest. But, Heaven help them, after so long of wanting and aching and needing, they want more, now. Sin or not, lust is thrumming through them, body and soul, and it’s a siren’s call they can’t resist. 

Aziraphale moves back in for more teasing licks at the pulse thrumming in Crowley’s neck as they guide him backwards, pushes him to the bed. He sprawls backwards, looking up at them with mouth agape as they back a few steps away. First, they slides off their shoes, then the pearl-and-diamond cuffs, moving deliberately and flicking their eyes back up to his. They turn away, slipping one strap of their dress down their shoulder and gazing back at Crowley, suddenly shy. It’s only partially an act; their heart is pounding in their chest at this attempted seduction. They have no idea what they’re doing; this show is penance for their part in their separation for the year, but it’s penance the angel is glad to deliver. As long as they aren’t making a fool of themself.

But Crowley is still staring at them, eyes nearly black with lust at the sight of creamy skin as they slowly let the other strap slip down their shoulder. The heavy, beaded dress falls, tracing the curves of their ample backside as it drags across silk underthings to puddle on the floor. 

While being naked in itself isn’t an issue for a celestial being who only pilots a physical corporation, this is new, unfamiliar territory. So when they turn back to face him, their hands come up to hide their soft, round belly and flat chest as their stocking-clad thighs press together. Aziraphale can feel the fiery blush on their cheeks as they looks away from Crowley in unfeigned embarrassment.

The demon scrambles up, reaching out a hand for one of their arms where it’s gripping tight to their flesh and rubbing his thumb across it in a soothing back-and-forth motion. “Hey, angel, it’s all right,” he murmurs. “You look gorgeous, you know. You never need to hide from me.”

They give him a trembling smile and let him pull their arms away slowly, kissing and nipping at their wrists as he places them on his shoulders and holds the angel by their wide hips. “Oh my _ god_,” he groans out at the sight of Aziraphale before him, hips still wrapped in a periwinkle lace garter belt that holds up their stockings and delicate silk knickers adorned with a small pink bow. “I’m taking those off with my teeth. I hope you don’t mind.”

“_Crowley_,” they admonish, glancing upward with a slight frown.

“I doubt She’s listening. Besides, who cares if She is? All I care about right now—” he spins them, pinning Aziraphale to the bed beneath him, “—is what you taste like. I’ve wanted…I’ve imagined—” He breaks off, burying his face in the crook of the angel’s neck and letting his mouth rove, exploring the flat plane of their chest and the round swell of their stomach before sliding down to press a kiss to the inside of one knee.

_ Oh_. _ OH_, they think, and the realization of what he means makes them shiver with want. “I-um, I don’t…” they stutter out, voice breaking as Crowley nips and bites and kisses his way up their thigh. He stops and looks up at them where they’re propped up on their elbows, watching him with something like panic.

“Do you want me to ssstop?” he asks, wide-eyed. He starts to pull away but Aziraphale sits up and grabs him. 

“No, no! It’s just, I’m...well, a bit nervous, if you couldn’t tell.” They’re worried that despite his clear interest, they’re going to mess this up somehow. _ Like last time. _ “But...I want this. I want _ you_.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, shaking his head with a small, fond laugh. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He gestures away their garter belt, sliding his hands down their stocking-clad legs to the heat of bare skin. Before they can reply, he pulls them forward, tangling his arms around the backs of their legs as he laps at the frilly edge of their knickers, tongue darting inside to taste the musky curls hidden behind before retreating to let his mouth cup over the aching, swollen folds of their labia through silk that may as well not be there for all the barrier it provides.

Part of Aziraphale wants him to take his time, but the more he kisses and noses and mouths at them, the larger the aching need grows somewhere deep in their belly, a throbbing want that connects to where he’s teasing to draw out moans and gasps of pleasure that they’ve never heard themself make.

“_More_, I want—take them _ off_—”

With a groan that sends vibration rumbling through them, Crowley gestures the last barrier between them away and and buries his face between their legs. Their back arches at the press of his tongue inside them and the hard plane of his nose grinding against the swollen hood of their clit.

Aziraphale sobs in pleasure, fisting their hands in his jacket and digging their heels into his shoulders as he ravishes their cunt with his mouth. They had no idea anything physical could feel this good, like every nerve and fiber of their body is responding to the caress of his tongue. He moves his mouth to their clit, probing and tasting and wringing out more breathy gasps and cries from them that make him hum in appreciation.

It’s almost too much, but then his fingers join his mouth in its worshipful ministrations. He presses two fingers inside their slick cunt, slowly but firmly pressing forward and back, letting them adjust to the sensation. Aziraphale’s back arches as the angel pants and grinds, an aching pressure building in their core as he fucks them with his fingers and tongue.

Then, it all becomes too much, and the pressure crests into a crescendo of tension and release. Aziraphale cries out as waves of pleasure like they’ve never known shake their thighs, like the ecstasy of the divine, but powerfully physical, drowning every aspect of their being. Their cunt clenches around Crowley’s fingers, each pulse drenching his mouth with wetness as they come. Finally, after seconds that feel like days or decades, their limbs seize in a last burst of agonizing, amazing bliss, before they collapse to the bed, tears tracing down their cheeks.

When Crowley clambers up to kiss them, it’s oddly thrilling to taste their own musky sweetness in his mouth. He wipes away their tears before wrapping around them in serpentine protectiveness, cradling them like something precious, to be cherished and hidden and savored by him alone.

“Was that all right?” he murmurs, eyes flicking to study the angel’s face carefully, as though waiting for them to shove him away and flee.

“My dear,” they sigh happily, sated and completely relaxed in the safety of his embrace. “That was wonderful. We should have done this ages ago.”

“I missed you too, angel,” he replies, relief evident in his voice before he kisses Aziraphale again. “Will you stay?”

Aziraphale looks up at Crowley, eyes shining brightly as they drink in the sight of him, so familiar and beloved. “I plan on staying until I run out of ways to love you. And you’ve given me quite a few ideas.”  
  


* * *

  
Outside, the fireworks show winds down, and the partygoers stumble off to their cars and taxis, exclaiming the virtues of their unseen host.

Upstairs, Aziraphale worships every inch of Crowley, murmuring their love into his skin as they come to the edge of ecstasy and tip over it together, again and again, until the dawn creeps over the horizon, and the soft cocoon of the bed and the embrace of each other cradles them to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> After battling bronchitis for close to 2 weeks, I was finally able to finish this one! I was inspired by many lovely fanarts of Aziraphale in dresses, even though from what I recall Crowley was taking his century-long sleep/sulk during the '20s. Ah well, smut will find a way.
> 
> Title from "The Great Gatsby".


End file.
